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Broken Pieces

She is a still life, a portrait, an antique. She is chiseled at and carved in all the right places, Put on a mantle on a shelf to be admired. To be perfect.

She doesn’t move or gesture or she will ruin all the time that was taken to masterfully put her together.

She is a grand scheme in an even grander design. But, when she looks into herself the marble and stone used on the outside does not mimic what she sees on the inside.

When she looks back at her reflection, in reflection of what she see, she sees a piece.

A missing piece.

An unfinished part of her, no patch work can work to patch her broken piece. One piece shattered into a thousand.

She is leaking, in order to not ruin the master's work she covers her open wound with her hand and all that flowed out flowed within.

Her hand served as a dam, but her leak as an aqueduct flowing to the innermost parts of who she was.

What she thought was offered as a solution offered a problem because now she was wounded internally. Because she didn’t see it outwardly, it was happening inwardly.

She smiled, and waved with one hand while she protected her wound with the other.

She was built to last and have durability, but each day her carved edges took on different shapes and shook her sensibility.

A metamorphosis from antique, marble, stone, into a rock. Because they weighed the same and looked the same she thought she was still the same.

However, the Master saw her. He saw her arm tired of holding the wound that hid her missing piece. She never told him to mend it, and He would have done so if she meant it.

She was a rock, not as valuable as stone, too stubborn to carve, not easily smooth, but easily removed.

Her eyes callus and distorted to say the least. Mistaking her insecurity as a woman from Titus. A woman she thought was meek.

But now a woman she made weak, because the weeks had gone by with this unaddressed leak.

A piece now turned to pieces, not enough hands to serve as a dam but enough leaks to feel damned.

The Master watches her so confused as she falls to the ground and melts, in a pool of broken pieces and self.

Leaning down He asked “why didn’t you just tell me what happened, I would have patched you up and life would be made simple. But you took on a task that left you tired and mental.

I made you and know exactly what you need. To lead you, feed you, and not settled in your lees.

I love you, you are part of me, a part of my seed. Always remember I'm here to meet all your needs.”

She looked up and said “but I’m no good to you I’m just a rock, and I tried to help.”

He answered, “Help me, or help yourself?

You're still a stone a rock is what YOU see. When I see you I still see my masterpiece.”

She states “but I don’t feel that way inside” He answers, “I know because I wasn’t finished and whoever told you I was, lied.

They built you up to bring to your own demise, but when I build you up it is to forever have you as mines.

So let me finish the good work in you I began, so you can stand and know you are complete because you were made by the Master’s hands.”


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